


Mojave Mirage

by Galen_Wordwyrm



Category: Doctor Who, Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2, Fallout: New Vegas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-06-26 21:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galen_Wordwyrm/pseuds/Galen_Wordwyrm
Summary: How much trouble can one little Courier get  in?





	1. Grave Tidings

Mornings inspired Doc Mitchell. The previous day was always no more than a memory, and the new day always provided fresh challenges. Draining the last swallow of coffee, he rose from the remnants of breakfast and methodically cleaned his dishes, stacking them in the cupboard when done, and decided to check on his patient.

The young woman lying in the small surgery was still asleep, or appeared to be, her pale blonde hair draping the pillow. Her brow furrowed for a moment. A dream? Memory? In either case, the frown vanished as she whimpered softly in discomfort, feeling the pull of sutures in her sleep.

Doc Mitchell perched on the chair at her bedside, and checked her pulse and breathing. Not much more he could do at this point. Now it was all up to her. She'd live or die, and he couldn't do more than watch. Again.

Her eyes opened. Blue.

"You're awake! How about that?", Doc Mitchell was encouraged. The young woman attempted to sit up, too fast, and he had to steady her. "Now hold on. Don't rush things. You've been out for a couple of days."

She tried to speak, swallowed, then motioned for something to drink. He passed her a Nuka-cola bottle filled with water, and tried to keep her from gulping it down. And failed, with the expected result. Mopping up the water and vomitus with a rag at hand for the purpose, he handed her the bottle again, gently admonishing her to take small sips. A few minutes later she tried to speak again.

"Where?"

"I'm Doc Mitchell, and you're in my house, in Goodsprings" the bald man replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got kicked by a brahmin." A quiet groan.

"That's to be expected when you get shot in the head", Doc Mitchell explained. "Complaining about it afterwards is mighty rare. Most folk just lie real still after something like that." He swung the Reflectron around so she could see herself. "Now, I take pride in my needlework, but I had to go digging pretty deep to get all the bits of bullet out of your skull. You let me know if I left anything out of place."

The young woman looked at herself and let out a sigh. A palm-sized half-moon had been shaved out of her hair above her right eye, and a shiny pad of bright pink scar tissue the size of the tip of her finger gleamed in the light. Fine incisions were held closed by neat sutures. She'd hardly have a scar worth mentioning. Tentatively, she touched her forehead, expecting sponginess where the bullet had entered. Something solid was under the skin now numb to all but pressure. "Cranioplasty", Doc Mitchell said with a note of pride. "Filled that divot in your noggin with a solid gold plate. Now you can tell people you let money go to your head."

Her fingertips explored her face, wincing at the sting of the bruises around and under each eye. "How long am I gonna look like a goddamn trash bandit?"

"Another week or two, sorry to say. About as long as the swelling, come to think of it." He admitted.

She flipped the bedclothes back, swinging her feet to the floor and sitting up, realizing she wore only a grimy tank-top and a pair of underwear. "Gotta pee" she mumbled, trying to stand. He escorted her to the bathroom, and back to bed when she'd finished. She lay there for a moment, trembling with exhaustion.

"Let's start with the basics. Do you remember your name?", Doc Mitchell queried. She nodded.

"June...June Six", she specified. 

He shrugged. "Not what I would have named you. Do you think you're up to walking over to that Vigor-tester?", indicating a pre-war arcade game on the opposite wall. June nodded and got out of bed a little more steadily than her first attempt, with Doc Mitchell at her elbow. He watched her performance with a clinical eye, then asked if she was ready for a few more tests; touching thumb to fingertips of both hands in sequence, tossing an old baseball with one hand and catching it with the other, and similar. Finally, he asked if she was ready for memory and cognition tests, which passed quickly.

"Well, I don't know enough to say whether these tests say you're nuttier than bighorner droppings, but it's not like you have a family history of getting shot in the head", Doc Mitchell admitted.

"You might be surprised about that", June muttered. Doc Mitchell appeared to ignore the quiet comment, and glanced at the clock on the wall in his living room. "It's getting late. I'll make some food, and you can spend the night." June nodded agreement.

*-*-*

Sleep proved elusive for June. Flashes of memory, scenes of sere desert beauty from her childhood tangled with impressions of California towns, from her travels and intruding on them all was the man in the black and white checked coat, raising his gun, pointing it at her head , and his final words that taunted her: "Truth is, the game was rigged from the start." 

*-*-*

Morning. The smell of morning coffee normally was enough to summon June out of deep sleep. Not today. The scent instilled a wave of nausea that sent June dashing for the bathroom. Doc Mitchell raised an eyebrow at June when she emerged. "I'm gonna guess that's not normal for you." She shook her head in the negative.

"Not even with a killer hangover. But right now...", June belched, swallowed hard. "God, please just put it somewhere else." With a sigh at the waste, Doc Mitchell poured the coffee down the drain. Breakfast for June, originally bighorner ham steak and pan-fried hashed jalepeño potatoes, was replaced by plain poached egg whites, bread, and water. June groaned miserably, but ate. It was almost more than her stomach would tolerate.

"Maybe one more day of rest before you hit the road", Doc Mitchell advised.

That evening, as Doc Mitchell read a pre-war book in his chair in the living room, June lounged on the couch opposite, listening to the ticking of the clock, lost in thought.

"Do you know anything about them?", June asked Mitchell. He closed a finger in the book to mark his place.

"Who?"

"The men who shot me", June explained.

"Can't say as I do. Trudy at the saloon up the street would be the one to ask", Doc Mitchell advised. "You might want to talk to Victor as well, seeing as he's the one pulled you out of that early grave."

"Who's Victor?", was June's next question. 

"He's the robot feller lives in the shack up the other end of the street on the edge of town."

Satisfied, June nodded, and drifted off to sleep.Doc Mitchell returned to reading, the ticking clock once again his only companion in the long night.

*-*-*

The next morning, June managed to keep a lightly salted fried egg sandwich down. The smell of coffee still nauseated her, but no where near as violently. "God, please don't tell me I can't drink coffee anymore. I -love- coffee, especially on the road."

"Well, sometime head injuries are like that. Can change a feller overnight", Doc Mitchell observed. "Anyway, all you had on you when Victor brought you in was this note." Along with the note he handed June a bulky bracelet. "This is my old Pip-boy. I grew up in one of those Vaults built before the war, but I haven't used it in years. You'll probably get more use out of it." He passed her a folded blue Vaultsuit. "You might want to wear this, keep the locals from thinking your indecent. And you might as well have my old laser pistol. Hell, i dont know if it even works anymore. "

"Thanks, for everything, Doc."

"Don't mention it" he replied. "I can fix you up if you wander by this way again, but try not to develop a habit of getting shot in the head, okay?" With that, June stepped out into the morning light. Dust swirled down the street in an eddy of wind, the Prospector Saloon visible about a block away. At the other end of the street, June could just make out a shack beyond a long abandoned school.

"Saloon first, information, then make some caps, and get the hell away from the Mojave", June said to herself as she formulated a plan. Mind made up, June trotted down the steps from Doc Mitchell's house to the street, intent on the saloon, watching as a top-heavy robot rolled towards her on it's wide, treaded unicycle tire, a cartoon cowboy face displayed on it's chest monitor, and a small ring antenna spinning merrily on its shoulder.

"Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit! I didn't expect to see you up and around so soon", the robot exclaimed in a cheery cowboy accent.

"Who, what are you?", June asked cautiously.

"I'm Victor, one of Mr. House's robots, a Robco PDQ-88b Securitron 2060-B."

"Oka-aaý", said June warily. "What do you want?" 

"You had some property that belonged to Mr. House, and he'd like to see it returned pronto."

So much for a quick get away. "Fine", June groused. "You have the caps to pay for my meals and lodging on the way to where-ever-the-hell Mr. House is?"

"That would be New Vegas", Victor cheerfully informed her.

"Lovely", June said expressionlessly, and continued on her way to the saloon.

Outside the door of the Prospector Saloon, an old man in a wide-brimmed hat and a long white beard sat in a rocking chair, travelling nowhere at a steady rhythmic pace. "Howdy, Pete's the name", he introduced himself.

June counted silently to three. "Pleased to meet you", she replied. "What is it you do around here?"

Pete rocked, considering his answer. "Used to be a prospector, but that's just a fancy word for scavenger. Had a good claim for a while before I got run off. These days, mostly get by raising bighorners for meat and hides. And I watch folk come and go."

"Hmm. See anyone in a fancy checkered coat?", June asked.

"Yep. City-slicker, hanging around with some Khans. Seemed like they was waitin' fer someone." Pete peered at her, and June flushed. "Might want to change barbers. Your last one was a mite clumsy."

June nodded. " I'm of a mind to kick his ass." Pete chuckled at that. "Say, you know of any work around here?", she inquired.

"Not at the moment, but town gossip says the old school had a safe that hasnt been touched since the war. Might want to be carefull though, some nasty critters might have moved in", Pete suggested. June thanked the old man and entered the saloon. And walked right into a confrontation.

*-*-*

"You give us that caravanner, we just might leave this town in one piece!" June couldn't see the tough's face, but the NCR prison blues uniform were plainly obvious. The woman he was facing down looked unimpressed.

"And I told you, we don't know where he is, so you can take your threats and leave", she informed the man cooly.

"When we come back, we're burning this place to the ground!", he yelled as he shoved past June, a sneer on his unshaven face. The door slammed behind him.

"Sorry you had to see that", the woman apologised.

June glanced at the door. "That's the kind of man just begging someone to end him", she observed. 

"Shoot him down without reason? That's not how we do things around here", the woman replied, crossing her arms in annoyance.

"Can we try this again?", June asked. "All I'm looking for is a bit of information and some work, in that order."

The other woman relented. "Fair enough. I'm Trudy, and this is my place. I've got food and drinks, pool table is in the next room, and caravan is played on Friday nights. Now, what'll you have?", she said as she moved behind the bar. 

June sat on one of the barstools, noticing that the radio behind the bar gave out more static than music. "How about a trade? I fix your radio for you, I get a beer, maybe a few caps, and an answer to a question or two." 

"Deal. But you fix the radio first", Trudy proposed.

Twenty minutes later, Trudy grunted in appreciation. "Radio sounds better than it ever did. Here's your beer, and how does twenty caps sound."

"Like twenty caps more than I had when I walked in here", June answered honestly, sipping her beer. Thank God beer still tasted as good as it ever did. "Now about those questions..."

"Shoot." June ignored the comment.

"You see a guy in a fancy coat, hanging out with some Great Khans?", June asked.

"Who do you think broke my radio? And they left in a hurry, without paying their bill! Why, do you know them?", Trudy asked in turn. 

June rubbed the stubble on her head. "You might say that. The guy in the fancy coat is the one responsible for my lovely new look."

"Jesus, you're the one that robot dug up and took to Doc Mitchell!" June nodded in reply. Trudy covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh my god, that must have been awful!" 

June sighed, gently pressing the cool bottle to her scar, eyes closed. The whole near death/early grave thing had lost its lustre almost immediately. "Do you know where I can find some work?"

Trudy leaned on the bar with her elbows. "Some of the local farms might trade caps for hard work. Up to you though."

Hoeing crops and shovelling brahmin shit. Not the first time she'd had to make ends meet that way. June finished her beer. "I'll see you around." Trudy nodded. June was at the door when she heard the dog growl behind her.

"Cheyenne, stay!", a young woman's voice ordered. June turned to look. The speaker was an attractive ginger, dressed in leathers that had seen some hard use. "Sorry about that", she apologised. "Cheyenne is just protective around strangers. I'm Sunny Smiles." June shook the offered hand. "I overheard what you told Trudy. I'd like to help out, if that's alright?"

June shrugged. "What did you have in mind?"

"Can you use a rifle?", Sunny asked.

"Well, I don't go hungry on the road, if thats what you're asking ", June answered. "Unfortunately, all I have is what you see, and that ain't much at the moment."

Sunny nodded. "C'mon, let's head out back. Cheyenne, heel!" The dog trotted over, and Sunny lifted an old rifle case from the corner and led June out the back door. Outside, Sunny zipped open the rifle case to reveal two varmint rifles, lifting both out and handing one to June. "You can have that one."

"Have? As in, for free?" June was dubious.

Sunny nodded. "Sometimes, you just have to help other people out." She set five old soda bottles on the fence. "Let's see if you know what you're talking about."

June looked at Sunny. Was she serious? Was this a test? Without a word, June picked up five stones, and from twenty feet away methodically, pointedly, took the top ends off the bottles with five throws, leaving all but one of the bottles standing. Sunny stared at June, who sat on the ground, setting about inspecting and field stripping the varmint rifle. "One thing I know sure as shit is you don't shoot at houses with people in them and not expect them to start shooting back." She re-assembled the rifle, loaded the five round magazine, then slapping the magazine to seat it, and stood up.

"Next?"

Sunny looked at the ground, then at June. "Okay, I had that coming", she confessed. "I normally keep coyotes and other pests away from town, and sell the meat and hides to Chet at the general store. Wanna give me a hand with some geckos that are getting too close to the town's water supply?"

June nodded. "If some caps fall my way, I won't say no."

Sunny grinned. "Then let's go!" She set off at a quick jog, leading around the edge of Goodsprings, then up into the rougher hillside. June paced her easily, with the dog loping beside them. Near an outcropping of rock, Sunny dropped to a crouch. The chirps of adult geckos could be heard not far away. "Ready?" June nodded.

Sunny eased into a prone firing position, but June remained standing, preferring the option of mobility against the agile desert reptiles. June took a deep breath, exhaled, then spun clear of the rock, selecting her first target. Fired. Her right hand worked the bolt, the back of her mind noting a slight hitch in the action, then selected her next target, and fired. Again. And again.

Silence. Almost. 

The chirps of more geckos. And a woman's scream. Sunny jumped up from her prone position. "There's another well, and it sounds like the geckos have a settler trapped! C'mon!" Sunny sprinted away, Cheyenne in hot pursuit. June surprised Sunny by passing her at a dead run, varmint rifle gripped in one pumping fist. June knew she had one round left, and it sounded like at least five geckos.

Wrong. Six.

Cheyenne took the first one high in the throat. Sunny got off one shot before she had to reload. June screamed in rage and kicked the gecko closest to her, hearing it's thin ribs splinter. A varmint rifle round whined off the cement trough near the wellhead. June saw her opportunity, and grabbed the shovel someone had previously left leaning against a fence rail. 

Whirling, the shovel blade sighing in the air, she gutted one gecko, then brained another with the flat of the blade. Teeth snapped at June, and she rammed the end of the shovel handle deep into the reptilan maw, the blunt tip crunching into the bottom of the animal's brainpan. Screams, not Sunny's or Cheyanne's! The last gecko, savaging the womans leg. June brought the edge of the shovel down like an axe, beheading the beast.

It was over. June was spattered with reptilian blood, the settler sprayed with it. June helped the woman to her feet. "Are you gonna be okay?"

The woman nodded, wiping the blood off her face with a rag from her pocket. "I've had worse, but I'd have been in real trouble if you hadn't come along. Thanks." June leaned on the shovel, slightly dizzy now the adrenaline rush had passed, watching as the woman headed back to Goodsprings. Someone nudged her shoulder.

"You dropped this." Sunny held the varmint rifle out to June, her own firearm hanging by its sling from her shoulder. June nodded. "Got a knife?" Sunny nodded. The two women set about skinning and butchering the geckos.

*-*-*  
The sun was a sliver on the Western horizon when June stumbled up to the shack Victor was in front of. "Is there a bed inside?"

"Shore is!", Victor confirmed. 

"Wonderful." The closing door shut out the encroaching Mojave night.


	2. These Boots Are Made For Walking

June opened one bleary eye when she heard the loud knocking on the shack door.

Oddly, she was relieved it was only the knocking that woke her, and not a pounding headache. She must be getting better. Whoever had woken her knocked again.

“Alright, alright, I’m up!”, June called, flipping the thin blanket aside and rolling out of bed. The muted yellow glow from a fission battery powered lantern on a shelf at the foot of the bed allowed June to grab a length of bent plumbing pipe lying on the desk in the middle of the room out of long habit, nudging aside the full duffle bag that she'd moved from the bed to the floor last night, before cautiously opening the shack door to see Sunny Smiles and her dog Cheyenne standing there. The faint crunch of gravel under a tire told June that Victor was where she'd last seen him, beside the door.

Never really a morning person, June grunted and swung the door wide to admit both Sunny and more light into the windowless shack. Cheyenne settled, then flopped on her side in the sun, as Sunny sat on the bed. “I thought I’d come by and see how you were doing. You were staggering pretty bad once we finished up at Chet's, and nobody saw you at all yesterday –“, Sunny announced.

June turned from rummaging in the sparse pantry, a can of pre-war Cram in her hand. “Excuse me?”

Sunny frowned slightly, fingers fidgeting. “You slept right through the day. I asked around, and Doc Mitchell almost yelled at me when I told him what we did.” Sunny looked up, accusation in her eyes.

Stepping around the desk, and clearing some space, June sat on the desktop, casually opening the tin and offering some to Sunny as hospitality and apology. “Doc said it'd be a while before I was back to normal, and that my sleep cycle might be messed up for ages. Looks like he was right”, June told Sunny as she dug some of the preserved meat out of the can with a spoon. “I still have to find some new gear, and some travelling caps. The vault suit Doc gave me is nice and all, but that ‘shoot me' blue makes you stand out from a mile away.”

“Well, if you get some xander root and broc flower, I can teach you how to make healing powder for the road. That should save you a few caps”, Sunny offered.

June recalled both of the plants, especially the turnip-like root she swore she'd eaten too much of as a child. “Thanks. Either of them grow locally?”

“There’s some xander root near the old school” Sunny replied. “And I think the broc flower is growing at the top of Cemetery Hill. But watch out for critters by the school. Easy Pete says there’s an old safe in there even he wasn't able to crack.” Sunny pulled a battered copy of Locksmith's Reader from her pocket. “This might help, if you want to poke around in there. Once you have the supplies, meet me by the old campfire South of Goodsprings wellhead.”

June took the magazine, nodding thanks, and offered the last spoonsful of Cram to Sunny in return. While Sunny scraped the tin clean, June hefted the duffle to the desk top, opened it, and let out a whoop of delight, startling Cheyenne. “Yes! Lady Luck smiles on me!” Sunny rose from the bed and watched as June emptied the duffle.

A battered pair of faded olive drab military cargo pants, three threadbare t-shirts, a wastelander jacket, and a pair of broken-in combat boots were joined by a heavy-tipped broad machete, a pair of binoculars, a bulky grenade rifle and seventeen grenades in a bandolier, a battered blue canteen with a faded yellow number ‘13' printed on it, and a weathered 10mm pistol in a holster attached to a leather belt were soon piled on the desk. One of the last items pulled from the duffle was a wicked looking saw-backed combat knife. June held the sheathed knife reverently, touching it to her forehead. “My Uncle Chance’s. I had to wipe out a nest of those damn cazadores to dig it out of the shallow grave his killer left him in. I swore I’d use it to cut the heart out of the bastard who double-crossed him.”

“Remind me not to piss you off,” Sunny deadpanned.

“Nah, won’t happen,” June grinned. “I’ve got a soft spot for coppertops.” Sunny felt a blush in her cheeks. June wriggled into the vault suit, laced up the old combat boots, and shrugged into the jacket, then buckled on the leather belt that now supported the pistol, knife, canteen, and binoculars.

“Set fer guai, as dad used to say. I’ll meet you by the campfire in an hour or so.” June was almost out the door, Sunny behind her, when June snapped her fingers, remembering something. Sunny dodged around her as June hefted the shovel she'd claimed during the fight with the geckos, and tucked Doc's laser pistol through her belt, shoving half a dozen energy charge packs for the laser into a pocket.

June secured the door behind herself, and addressed Victor. “I guess I should thank you for saving most of my outfit.”

Victor’s cheerful cartoon cowboy face flickered and rolled for a moment as the screen in his chest activated. “Aw, shucks. Tweren't nuthin'.” June huffed in mild annoyance, wanting to confront the smug tin can, and walked towards the abandoned school instead.

While she was tying her hair back so it didn’t get snagged on the rusting cyclone fence around the school, the long handle of the shovel resting in the crook of her right arm and the blade of the shovel on the ground, June could hear a dry rattle in the tufts of grass in the schoolyard. A flicker of jerky movement, green on dusty sage and then a flash of magenta and blue as the giant mantis nymph broke cover, wings clattering as it launched itself at June, who dropped the shovel and rolled left. The mantis landed, realigned itself for another attack, and sprang at June, forelegs slashing. June clawed the laser pistol from her belt, swatting the insect aside with it, and grabbed for the shovel before the mantis scuttled towards her, spun on her heel and crushed it beneath the shovel blade. Two more mantis nymphs met a similar fate when June discovered them beyond the fence.

For her trouble, the schoolyard yielded June three xander roots. Tying the dried stalks together, she regarded the door to the school.

With a shrug, she dropped the xander roots by the door, and shouldered it open. Inside, daylight was filtered by windows clouded by decades of grime. School desks were overturned, and student lockers sagged open, and a long counter under the windows with a long dead computer terminal atop it. Junk. June didn’t know why she expected anything else.

Something moved in the gloom. Something green.

With a cry of revulsion, June set about exterminating the handful of mantis that had infiltrated the building. Somewhere in the melee she snapped off the shovel handle, and suffered a painful slash to her thigh above her right knee. The mantis was repaid by a 10mm bullet that left a hole in the floorboards. While June caught her breath, she remembered she'd dropped Doc's laser pistol outside. “God-dammit", she muttered to the now silent room, before she limped over to inspect the floor safe near the counter she'd spotted during the fight with the mantises. She squatted on her heels, hissing as the sting in her right leg, and with a bobby-pin from her pocket, picked the lock with practiced ease. All that was inside the safe was a stiff paperboard carton bearing the words “Property of the U.S Army, One (1) Robco Stealth-boy, Model 3001".

June held the box, thinking. She’d heard of Stealth-boys. Almost everybody in the Wasteland had at one time or another, but many considered them more of a myth. And now, here she held one in her hand. In the right circles, it could mean a lot of caps in her pocket. It could also be a way to get close to the fink who shot her and exact some hard-earned payback. She rose with another hiss of annoyance at her wound, and limped outside.

Collecting the xander root and the fallen laser pistol, June made her way up the street to Doc Mitchell's, dust devils twisting in the breeze. He opened the door to her knock, saw the blood soaking into the leg of her vault-suit, and led June back to his small surgery. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

June pointed to her forehead. “Maybe not. But on the bright side, no new holes in my noggin!”, she exclaimed with a cocky smile before shrugging out of her jacket and unzipping the vault-suit to expose her wound before hopping up and lying back on the exam table.

Doc Mitchell sighed, shook his head, and then irrigated and stitched the gash in June's leg. June grimaced as the first stitch went in, but maintained a stoic silence until the procedure was finished and a bandage was wrapped around her leg. June dressed, and Doc Mitchell accepted when she offered to repay him by bringing him some fresh meat. Glancing down at her leg, June ‘tsk'-ed at the slash in the Vault suit, making a mental note to patch it later before the tear could run.

Chet had a spare shovel handle to replace the one she'd broken, and left it with him to repair, then started the hike up Cemetery Hill. Halfway in her climb, a sand coloured radscorpion the length of her leg lunged out if it's burrow in attempted ambush. June scrambled to evade, the arachnid’s fist-sized sting punching a hole in near the hem of her jacket in a near miss. A desperate spinning kick flipped the creature over just long enough for June to shoot it twice with her 10mm pistol, killing it.

June paused to catch her breath. That had been almost too close.

The drone of the bloat flies warned June before she saw them. Pistol in hand, she crouched, taking her time to aim at the erratically bobbing pests as they hovered over the graves. Seven rounds later, she was the only living thing on Cemetery Hill.

Collecting the broc flower went easily enough. It was the open grave that gave her pause.

‘That was supposed to be my eternal rest', June thought to herself with a shiver. Several cigarette butts discarded on the ground seemed faintly familiar. She picked one up, inspecting it. Not hand rolled. A pre-war filter tip, emptied of the long stale original tobacco, then refilled by a more recent cut of the pungent leaf. A flicker of almost memory nagged at her, and she tucked the butt into a pocket in her jacket.

A glint of something shiny on one of the other graves caught her eye. The glint proved to be a glass snowglobe, like the ones people used to collect ages ago. June glanced around. She was alone, but it still felt odd, lifting something off a grave. But it might bring her a few caps down the road. Into a pocket it went.

Half an hour later, Sunny was teaching her how to make healing powder from the xander root and broc flower she'd collected, complementing June on how quickly she picked up the skill.

“That’s real good! There’s all kinds of things you can make with campfires, or re-loading benches. All it takes is some knowhow and the right supplies. Anyway, I’ve gotta get back to the saloon, see if Trudy has any other work for me. See ya ‘round! Oh, and you might want to clear out Goodsprings Cave, over the other side of the highway into town, if you want to make some caps", Sunny grinned as she and Cheyenne trotted back to town.

Making some caps sounded like a damn good idea to June.

“Hello? Can you help me?”

June turned to see a Wastelander approaching her. Tall-ish, wearing a Wasteland trader's coat, brown haired, with biker goggles around his neck. “My name’s Barton Thorn. My girlfriend is trapped by some geckos, up on the ridge past the broken pylon.”

“Why didn’t you try to save her?” June was suspicious.

“I ran, I admit it. Can you please just help her?”, Thorn pleaded.

June regarded Barton coolly. “Fine. But I’m not doing it for free”, she said. Barton nodded agreement.

“Please hurry!”

June huffed a strand of hair out of her eyes, and jogged up the slope in the direction Barton had indicated. Two geckos charged her as she cleared the wreckage of the pylon, and June expended a magazine of 10mm disposing of them. She reloaded the magazine, worked the pistol’s action to chamber a round, and continued the climb. Three more geckos emptied her pistol magazine a second time, and June hoped there weren’t any more. She was starting to run low on ammo.

A faint path led up the rocks to a spotters post. Guarded by three bear traps. And no girlfriend.

“Barton, you’re a lying fink", June muttered to herself as she gathered some loose fist-sized stones. Tossing the stones on the traps trigger plates quickly removed the hazard, and she finished the climb. At some point in the past, someone had gone to the considerable effort of dragging a pre-war refrigerator up the slope to act as a cache. Looking around, all she found was a note for ‘Johnny', and five red balls that for some reason gave her an odd, unnerving feeling, like a dark inside joke she couldn’t get. The refrigerator cache was more rewarding, yielding two boxes of 10mm ammo, a tin box of caps, three tins of Cram, and a Sunset Sasparilla. Gathering her loot into a makeshift pack fashioned from her jacket, June started back down the way she came.

“Thanks for clearing out those geckos", Barton announced, 9mm pistol in hand. “Sorry for tricking you. I wouldn’t have been able-"

June’s fastdraw and a clean shot between the eyes cut him off.

“Asshole.” She relieved his corpse of the 9mm pistol, it's holster, two empty spare magazines, and thirty 9mm rounds, and tucked the items into her makeshift pack. Some effort gained June the trader's coat. She wiped her hands down with some loose sand to clean the worst of the blood off. When she reached the concrete troughs at the Goodsprings Source, she washed her hands in a bucket of water, then scrubbed the trader's coat.

“What a goddamned day", June said to Victor as she approached the shack. His screen flickered before he responded.

“Time's a-wasting, partner", he reminded her. “Mr. House won’t wait forever.”

June rocked back on her heel half a step. “I’m going to go get some lunch, run an errand, and then I might even decide to get drunk tonight, because I have had a shitty day, and I don’t need you adding to it.”

“Suit yourself.”


	3. In a Cavern, In a Canyon

It was one of those mornings in the Goodsprings General Store that promised to stretch into a long and potentially boring day. Chet didn’t actually mind long days. They tended to be quiet. Quiet meant no trouble. This prospect made it easy for Chet to settle in to wait out the day.

Which is exactly the moment when the Mojave Express courier who’d been shot in the head a week ago walked in.

“Good morning", Chet lied. “What can we get you?”

“You mentioned the other day that you sell some gun mods. Got anything for a nine mil pistol?”, June inquired.

“Sure thing. I’ve got a scope and an extended magazine, fresh from the Gun Runners”, Chet offered.

“Let’s see ‘em.” Chet laid the parts on the counter, and June looked them over. The scope was in reasonable condition, but obviously not factory new, as bright metal showed where the blueing had worn away with use. The magazine had a visible weld seam that would need some filing on the inside to make it feed reliably. 

June arched an eyebrow at Chet. “Fresh from Gun Runners, huh?”

Some almost polite haggling and the two nine millimeter magazines scavenged from Barton Thorn put the mods in June's hands, along with a box of 9mm ammo. A hour at the reloading bench outside mounted the scope and cleaned up the magazine. Another hour with Sunny acting as spotter had the scope zeroed.

The scent of coffee still made June feel queasy, so a Sunset Sarsaparilla accompanied a roast Brahmin meat sandwich for lunch at the Prospector Saloon, chatting with Sunny and Trudy while she ate.

“I know Chet has a few goodies meant for varmint rifles squirrelled away", Sunny informed June, who nodded in agreement around a mouthful of sandwich. June swallowed, replying “I saw. But if I get them, I’m gonna be short on caps for the trip to New Vegas.” 

A look passed between Trudy and Sunny. 

Trudy reached under the bar, then dropped a small leather sack on the bar with the distinctive ‘clink' that said it was full of caps. June looked up at Trudy. “I don’t do loans. Dad said if you don’t have the caps, you don’t need it.”

"It’s not a loan. Call it an investment to guarantee you clear out Goodsprings Cave.”

June eyed Trudy levelly. “It'll take the rest of the afternoon to mount the scope and zero it. Job won’t get done until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Then you’d best get to it. Daylight’s burning”, Trudy advised.

*-*-*

June crept upslope, slinking from clumps of brush to rock outcrop, trying to stay downwind of the coyotes that loitered near the mouth of Goodsprings Cave. Flipping the safety of her newly upgraded varmint rifle off, she took careful aim.

The suppressed rifle coughed, and one of the coyotes flopped to the ground. Two more of the predators met the same fate in quick succession. June let out the breath she’d held, and reloaded. She’d always disliked caves, and the prospect of poking around in one inhabited by potential man eaters didn’t thrill her. But caps were caps. She moved forward…

The flashlight function of the Pip-boy proved useful. Well, almost. It certainly attracted the attention of the big male coyote that took three shots from her rifle to dispose of. June turned it off when she noticed the glowing fungus. Stealth was going to be her ally in this scenario. Crouching, she moved deeper into the cave.

Rounding a bend, June spotted a flicker of movement in the end of the chamber. Three more adult coyotes, and two yearnings. She also spotted at least three sets of human remains. Sighting through the night vision scope, she shot the den mother in the head. Four more shots ended the threat to Goodsprings. 

One of the corpses proved to be a ghoul, dressed in some kind of cassock-like robe, a scrap of paper in its hand, which read ‘Look for peace'. An odd energy rifle lay nearby. June slung her varmint rifle and picked it up, then inspected the other bodies, a Wastelander couple who’d chosen the wrong cave for shelter. The duffle bag of their supplies would be useful to June. Or Goodsprings. 

Retracing her steps, June exited Goodsprings Cave. A symbol scratched on the side of a shoulder high rock outcropping caught her eye, a pre-war peace sign. June scoffed. “Yeah, a lot of good that did them”, she said aloud. 

Peace sign.

The scrap of paper in the ghoul's hand. Could it be that simple? She looked closer, inspecting the rock, and discovered it had been hollowed out, then fitted with a cunning door. Concealed inside was some canned food, something labelled ‘M.R.E.’, a partial box of .308 ammunition, some caps, and a 10mm pistol she could use for spare parts. June cradled the odd teal-coloured energy rifle in her hands as she picked her way downslope towards the highway, in the direction of an abandoned refrigerator she’d noticed.

The refrigerator proved to hold a skeleton. Which was wearing a faded, if still appealingly stylish high-crowned wide brimmed fedora. She couldn’t say exactly why, but she had the idea this person had attempted to hide from the nuclear holocaust in a fridge. Gingerly, she plucked the hat from the grinning skull.

“Thanks", June said, wiping the hatband free of debris before donning it. ‘Who knows, she thought to herself. ‘Maybe this hat will bring me some luck.’ Standing on the verge of the old highway, she had a decision to make. Back to Goodsprings, or down the road to New Vegas?

Her stomach rumbled, deciding for her. Food first.

*-*-*

Lunch also provided information. June found out the old road past Sloan was closed due to unpleasant, large, and hostile wildlife. The road that she'd followed into Goodsprings from Red Rock Canyon was now infested with those damned cazadores, so the road to Primm that led to Nipton and eventually New Vegas via Novac was the only route open to her.

“That’s going to be rough on the boot leather”, June groused. 

“Better than being some critters lunch", Sunny countered.

June nodded in agreement. “Looks like I’m headed to Primm. I’m gonna pack my gear, ship ahead what I can’t carry via Chet’s Mojave Express box, and head out in the morning. It’s been an experience, hanging out with you, Smiles.”

“Likewise, Six. Don’t be a stranger.” June drained the last of her beer and departed. As she packed, she finally had a chance to inspect the energy rifle, which turned out to be a General Atomics ‘Recharger Rifle’, a laser rifle that effectively had an unlimited ammunition supply thanks to it’s onboard microfusion breeder reactor. She could have saved a lot of ammunition while subsistence hunting on the road as a courier if she’d had one of these with her. 

After dispatching her gear in the Mojave Express box, June returned to the shack at the end of the road.

“You know, for someone hellbent on revenge, you shore are takin' your sweet time", Victor drawled as she approached. 

“You know, Victor, one of these days I might just take an axe to your motherboard and give you a re-programming you’ll never forget”, June remarked. Then she entered the shack and went to bed.

*-*-*

June skirted the hill crests from Goodsprings, avoiding the road after almost stumbling into a Powder Ganger camp, finding the abandoned Lone Wolf Radio along the way, and scavenging a copy of the Wasteland Survival Guide. It was getting close to noon when she reached the outskirts of Primm, the signature ruin of the roller coaster looming over the long abandoned Bison Steve hotel. An NCR trooper intercepted her, and directed her to the tent of Lieutenant Hayes.

“Town's cordoned off, on account of some Powder Gangers taking over”, Hayes explained. “Turns out giving convicts access to high explosives wasn’t exactly a brilliant idea.”

June huffed in annoyance, arms crossed. “Well ain’t that just fuckin' dandy. I need to talk to the local Mojave Express manager.”

Hayes shrugged. “You want to risk your neck, that’s up to you. I won't risk my men to save your ass.”

“As always, a pleasure doing business with representatives of the NCR", June quipped.

The NCR trooper detailed to guard the broken bridge to Primm cautioned June about the landmines that had been laid to discourage the Powder Gangers from rushing the NCR camp. June avoided them by hanging off the railing and going hand over hand, then sneaking into the ruined building next to the Mojave Express office. Crouching behind the crumbling remains of a brick wall on the upper floor, June spotted three of the Powder Gangers loitering near the corner. The beginning of a plan in mind, she crept back downstairs, taking up a position in the shadows. 

The Powder Ganger leaning against the wall was the first to die, his brains splattered against the stucco. The second Powder Ganger fell to the ground when June shot him in the knee. Powder Ganger number three managed to squeeze off three shots before June shot him in the neck from the second floor. Then she finished off her second target with a head shot.

Looting the bodies turned up a .38 special revolver, marked ‘Property of Sierra Madre Security', a 9mm pistol, and a varmint rifle that had seen better days, along with several rounds of ammunition for each weapon, some caps, three packs of cigarettes, and a skewer of squirrel bits.

A body near the door of the Mojave Express office proved to be another courier, who'd been murdered in cold blood, shot in the head. The office was empty, an abandoned deactivated eyebot on the counter. 

With the coast clear, June opened the doors to the Vicki and Vance Casino, and slipped inside.

“You picked a hell of a time to visit Primm, youngster. The whole town has gone to hell.”

June blinked at the source of the comment, an older man dressed in bib overalls with a crew cut. 

“Johnson Nash is the name", he introduced himself. “I run the Mojave Express office. And the general store.”

June grinned. “Then you’re just the man I need to talk to. I’m a courier.”

Nash grimaced. “No work for you right now, not with the Powder Gangers raising hell.”

“Actually, it’s my last job I need to talk to you about", June said, handing Nash her work order. “I got jumped, lost the package.”

“Oh”, Nash said, perusing the work order. “One of them jobs, had queer written all over it. That robot feller wanted six couriers to carry six trinkets, like chess pieces, poker chips, dice, and the like. First deadbeat we hired bailed on us, soon as he saw your name on the list, asked if you were still alive. Told him right as rain you were still kickin'. ‘Let Six have the job' he said, then walked out.”

Victor. June was going to have a disagreement with the rolling toaster. A loud one. “Have you seen a man wearing a black and white check coat?”, she inquired.

“Deputy Beagle saw your man in the daisy suit with a bunch of Khans, talking to the Powder Gangers, before those lowlifes shot Sheriff McBain and his wife, Beagle’s sister”, Nash offered.

“Shit", June muttered.

“Indeed", said Nash. “You come across any likely candidates to replace our sheriff, we’d be mighty obliged.” 

“Where’s this Beagle now?”, June asked.

“Disappeared into the Bison Steve. Reconnaissance, Beagle called it”, Nash opined. “Being nosey, I call it.”

“Thanks.” Gritting her teeth in frustration, June slammed the doors open, stalking down the street. Near the North corner of the Vicki and Vance, June squatted on her heels, thinking, looking across at the sheriff's house. There was a good chance there was a better rifle stashed in there. A search of the building after forcing the door proved her right. Two lever-action cowboy repeaters, one kicked under the reloading bench, the other under the bed where it had been of no use, and ammunition, plus the sheriff’s duster and hat. And the bodies of McBain and his wife. The stench was almost overpowering, and she was glad to get out into fresh air.

Using parts from one cowboy repeater to repair the other, she assembled a decently functioning firearm with more kick than her varmint rifle. 

Movement on the old roller coaster track revealed a Powder Ganger sentry. Flipping up the long distance sight, June took aim. ‘Sucks to be you', she thought as she pulled the trigger.


End file.
